Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Ella
“Why haven’t you read Moby-Dick?”
—Jack’s Staff Pick
Mondays were usually the slowest days at the store. But the quiet days were becoming more and more frequent.
If Leo hadn’t been worried, then I figured I shouldn’t be either, but it was hard not to when I’d look at the sales going down each month.
I’d learned a lot since Leo promoted me, even if I’d been hesitant to accept the manager job at first.
“No way,” I’d said. I stood from my chair in front of his desk, ready to walk out the door.
“It comes with a raise, more responsibilities—”
“Leo, no,” I said, laughing slightly. “I like being out on the floor. I want to be friends with the booksellers without having power over them—”
“You can do all of that,” Leo said gently. “But I want you to grow and to love this store as much as you did the very first day you walked in here.”
“You know I do.”
“Not if you stay in the same place,” he said sternly.
“I’ve been careful about this, Ella. I wanted you to go to college so you’d choose the store.
And if you hate being a manager that much, we can talk about becoming a bookseller again.
But you don’t lose that title, too. You’ll still be on the floor, recommending books.
You’ll still be able to shelve whenever you want—”
“Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” I muttered.
Leo laughed and gestured for me to sit back down in the chair. I did so begrudgingly.
“If this is the life you’re choosing, I want you to enjoy it. I’m not promoting you just because we’re close or because of any seniority you may have. It’s because you know this store almost as well as I do. There’s no one better.”
I studied his face for a moment. Leo had always had my best interests at heart. Change was scary, but I trusted Leo like no one else. After a moment I nodded and said, “But I still get to work on the main floor.”
“I wouldn’t dream of taking you off it.”
Back then, I thought I knew plenty about the store, but there was so much more behind the scenes than I realized.
When Leo began training me to take over, I wanted to learn everything I could because I knew we could improve the store.
Leo had been keeping the books by hand until I convinced him to transition to a digital software.
I got Ren, one of our artsier booksellers, to design new and fresh merch for the store.
I thought Leo and I had spent plenty of time together before, but after my promotion, we were attached at the hip.
He had taken his time training me, so I felt a little in the dark over some things. I was wading through murky waters, certain somehow I’d find my way through. All I wanted to do was call him and ask for advice.
The store felt so empty without him here.
There was an info desk at the back of the main floor.
The left side was for whatever bookseller was scheduled there, but the right was always Leo’s.
No one else, not even me, worked there. Whenever he was tired of working in his office or walking the floors, he’d stand there and give recommendations off the top of his head.
People would line up just to talk to him.
Some days, I still wandered back there to chat with him only to find it empty—a harsh reminder of what I’d lost.
Manning the info desk had its ups and downs—sometimes I got to recommend a new favorite book to someone, and sometimes I had to deal with people who made me want to smack them with a thick book on the French Revolution.
“Sir, there are lots of yellow books,” I said with a tight smile to the man in front of me now. “Do you have a title? Maybe even just one word that was in the title.”
The man was my age, maybe a bit older, which made this all the more frustrating. He was quiet for a moment, lost in thought, before he said, “I think it also had some brown on the cover.”
He looked at me expectantly, and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.
“I need just a bit more. You know, something that’d make it stand out from every other book we have.”
“I told you it was bright yellow, right?”
Before I could respond, Ameerah slid behind the main desk and said, “There’s some guy looking for you at the registers.”
I squeezed her shoulder. “Perfect. Can you help this kind gentleman here?”
At the end of the row of registers, there was a man in a suit, waiting patiently. Our registers were at the very front of the store next to a window facing the street. He watched New Yorkers pass by as he leaned against the counter.
“Hi there,” I said as I approached him. “I’m the manager, did you need help with something?”
When he turned around, I blinked in surprise.
It was subway guy. I thought he’d been handsome in the brutal subway lighting, but in the daylight, he was all at once warm and marvelous and somehow familiar.
I hadn’t noticed how bright his blue eyes were.
His suit was missing a tie. Just nice dress pants and a sports coat that fit him nicely.
“It’s you,” I said.
“It’s you,” he replied, looking a little shocked. “I didn’t think I’d see you again.”
“That’s because you don’t believe in the power of New York. Yet.” I moved past him to situate myself behind the register counter. “New York believes in a little thing called fate.”
He narrowed his eyes, amused. “We’re fated?”
I faltered. “No … I mean, we’re supposed to meet for some reason.” I waved him off. “You have to trust the city, okay? It works in mysterious ways. You’ll see once you’ve spent enough time here. Is this another stop on your tourist adventures?”
“Oh, no,” he said. Then paused, frowning. “Sorry, did you say you’re the manager?”
“That’s me.”
“I’m Henry,” he said. I blinked at him again, waiting, but he just stared at me expectantly.
“Okay, Henry, what did you need help with?”
He shook his head, raking a hand through his short brown hair. “No, I’m Henry.”
I laughed, unsure. “Sorry, I think I’m missing something.”
“I’m Henry Martin,” he said. “Leo’s grandson. The new owner of The Last Page.”